


A Not-so Ordinary Day

by holyfudgemonkeys (erraticallyinspired)



Series: PSon Fluff Bingo [10]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Age Difference, Domestic Fluff, Established Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright, Established Relationship, Fluff, Foot Massage, M/M, Mpreg, Older Man/Younger Man, PSon Fluff Bingo, Pregnancy, non-graphic birth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26345011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erraticallyinspired/pseuds/holyfudgemonkeys
Summary: Malcolm's day starts out pretty boring.(Written for Labor Day! Wrong kind of labor, but the idea was too tempting to ignore XDFor the squares "Foot Massage" and "Kiss on the Forehead" on my bingo card.)
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright, Malcolm Bright & Sunshine the Bird
Series: PSon Fluff Bingo [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1733158
Comments: 14
Kudos: 59





	A Not-so Ordinary Day

The day starts off relatively boring. 

Malcolm pulls himself out of bed before Gil is awake, his sleeping habits having only worsened as his pregnancy progressed — though he’s making an effort to get naps in now. He pads over to the kitchen. The burner clicks and roars to life. He sets the tea kettle on it. Maybe he’s never gotten the hang of scrambled eggs, but he knows how to make a damn fine cup of french press coffee.

Gil always insists he doesn’t have to go to the effort. He also always smiles involuntarily through the whole cup and finishes every drop. 

Their baby kicks a good morning. Malcolm yawns and rests his hand over their little feet as he leans against the counter. At just over eight months along, it barely takes much for him to feel fatigued. He’s much too slight for this much weight on his stomach. 

Which his husband reminds him of often, practically begging Malcolm to let himself be taken care of, to take it easy. Gil’s convinced him somewhat. Malcolm just can’t sit idle until their son or daughter is ready to make their debut, and, as he’s told him a million times before, making coffee is one of the least dangerous things he could do. 

Across the loft, Gil finally gets out of bed and wanders to the bathroom half-asleep. He’ll be there for a little while, taking a quick shower and cleaning up his goatee. Then he’ll come out, drink his coffee, make them both eggs, and leave for work.

It’ll just be Malcolm and Sunshine for a few hours. Malcolm will try some yoga, maybe read. Inevitably, his mother will show up to check in on him. He’ll end up at the precinct by noon with a bag of takeout and a few insights on their case.

(Gil will give him an exasperated sigh even as his lips twitch up and make note of everything his husband says.)

They’ll part ways again until Gil comes home for the night. It’s been their routine for a month and a half now.

Malcolm wouldn’t change much. He pours a large mug of coffee just as the bathroom door opens, his naked husband striding out towards the closet, hair still damp. _This_ he certainly wouldn’t have any other way, Malcolm knows. He takes a leisurely whiff of the caffeine he can’t have and watches Gil’s ass until it’s obscured by boxers and pants. 

The ceramic is still hot when Gil pulls him into a soft, minty kiss. “How are my two favorite people?” He places a gentle hand on the curve of their child. 

“Tired,” Malcolm says honestly. “A little horny.”

Gil chuckles, eyes darkening. “I wish I had time —”

“But you’re in the middle of a case.” Malcolm pushes the mug closer to him. He’s not mad or even disappointed. He, of all people, understands Gil’s dedication to the job. 

(And, really, he’ll still be in the mood tonight.)

“Sorry, kid.” Gil gives him another peck and picks up the mug. “Eggs?”

“With cheese.”

Maybe he did too much today. His doctor _did_ say walks were okay! Good, even. So what if Malcolm walked a few too many blocks down from the precinct to stop at the falafel truck his baby’s been craving nonstop for nearly four months now? He’ll just spend the rest of the night off his aching feet. 

Gil shakes his head when he comes home to find him spread out on the couch. He ducks down and kisses his napping husband on the forehead, startling him awake. “Dinner?”

Malcolm considers it, knowing he sometimes needs to eat when he’s not in the mood for the sake of the baby, but he still feels stuffed. “Not yet.” He stifles a yawn and sits up, legs stretched out before him. “Did you solve the case?”

“Mmhm,” Gil says as he lifts his husband’s legs up just enough to settle on the end of the couch with bare feet in his lap. “We were able to narrow our search with your profile. Dani caught him an hour ago. I left right after we finished the paperwork.”

That brings a satisfied smile to his face. Although it’s not the same as being there when they bring the killer in, it feels good to know he made an impact. 

Gil wraps a gentle hand around one of his feet. “You’re more tired than usual, city boy.” He rubs the arch with his thumb. “Need a massage?”

This time Malcolm doesn’t have to think about it. “Please,” he groans. His doctor warned them to be careful — there are more risks than they anticipated for something so simple — but even the light touch Gil has to use is heaven. 

Reaching over to the side table, his husband grabs a bottle of lotion they’ve kept there for this very reason and deposits a decent amount onto his hand. He warms it for a moment, then rubs it into Malcolm’s skin. “Was it the falafel again?” Gil starts with soft touches, gentle pressure, the slightest tug on his toes one by one. 

Malcolm smiles wryly. “It’s _always_ the falafel. I ate two whole pitas today.” Maybe it’s a little silly to be so proud of that, but Gil and his doctor have both been supportive of anything that increases his appetite, especially with a baby on the way. 

Gil switches feet. “Be careful who you tell,” he jokes. “I wouldn’t put it past your mother to buy the truck for you two.” 

“What makes you think she hasn’t already tried?” Knowing Jessica… the look that puts on Gil’s face gets a chuckle out of Malcolm. He doesn’t tell his poor husband she’s considered giving them some monetary incentive to park out by the loft during the week. 

Gil moves on to his ankles, shaking his head. 

The rest of the night is typical. Nothing special but lovely all the same. 

And then Malcolm wakes up at two. It’s dark in the loft, the only light coming from the streetlamps outside, and Gil is snoring softly next to him, dead to the world now that he’s finished his current case. Malcolm knows from experience he won’t wake up if the bed shifts. It’s nice, in a way, since that means he can get up without disturbing his husband. 

The problem now is that he’s not sure _why_ he’s awake. There were no nightmares. He doesn’t particularly feel like he needs to go to the bathroom, either. He places a hand on his stomach. “Are you awake, too?” 

There’s no response beyond a small kick, of course. 

Malcolm yawns and wiggles out of bed. He goes to the couch, turns on the TV and mutes it before whatever channel it’s on can blast on full volume.

Sunshine chirps at him from her cage.

He lets her out and settles again. 

Ten minutes later, he feels it. Pain. It comes and goes, and while he’s not sure what it is initially, the next one — another twenty minutes on — clues him in.

He’s in labor. 

“Ready to meet your sibling, Sunshine?” He pets her with the back of a finger. Of course, he’s aware it could take hours, and with his contractions so far apart right now, it’s not necessary to go to the hospital yet, so he settles in for the long haul, keeping an eye on the time between pains.

Gil’s usually up at six thirty. 

Malcolm’s water breaks at five. He’s in the shower when it happens, giving himself a quick wash to be as comfortable as possible before going into the hospital, but not even the spray can distract him from the odd gush he feels. Dunking his head right under the showerhead to quickly rinse off the remaining soap, he turns the water off. His hands shake as he grabs his towel. 

Now, this is _really_ happening. 

He dries himself off with jerky movements and pulls on maternity sweats and a loose shirt. He almost wishes it was one of Gil’s, but not even Gil’s shirts fit anymore. 

His husband is still asleep in bed. He blinks blearily when Malcolm shakes his arm. “Kid?” he says, voice rough. 

“So,” Malcolm says with a strained smile, “I _might_ be in labor.”

Gil sits up. “ _What?_ ”

“My water broke about five minutes ago.”

(When all is said and done, and Gil is cradling their son Jacob, kissing his forehead as the baby squirms in his swaddling, his husband’s sweater on inside out, Malcolm can say with absolute certainty that it was all worth it. 

He takes a picture quick so that he can tease him later. 

Maybe _after_ he makes a run to the falafel truck that Malcolm still has a hankering for.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, as always, to KateSamantha for making me my cards <3


End file.
